Sleep makes the silence and the terrible fear go by more quickly, helps pass the time, since it's impossible to kill.

Not being able to go outside upsets me more than I can say, and I'm terrified our hiding place will be discovered and that we'll be shot. That, of course, is a fairly dismal prospect.

I continued to sit with the open book in my hand and wonder why I was filled with so much anger and hate that I had to confide it all to you. I tried to understand the Anne of last year and make apologies for her, because as long as I leave you with these accusations and don't attempt to explain what prompted them, my conscience won't be clear.

It is becoming a bad dream-- in the daytime as well as at night. I see him nearly all the time and can't get at him, I mustn't show anything, must remain gay while I'm really in despair.

Riches, prestige, everything can be lost. But the happiness in your own heart can only be dimmed; it will always be there, as long as you live, to make you happy again. Whenever.

And keep on trying to find a way of becoming what I would so like to be, and what I could be, if... there weren't any other people living in the world.

I long to ride a bike, dance, whistle, look at the world, feel young and know that I'm free, and yet I can't let it show.